One year ago today heaven became achingly real to me. My body hurt, my arms were empty, and even my husband's arms around me couldn't make the fact that our baby was gone any less horrible.

One day, in a state of blinding pain, I cried out to God to show me our son, show me that he is whole and complete and perfect now. I saw a boat in my mind and found myself in the boat with Jesus. I had been there before and I knew the familiar lapping of the waves against the prow. We were pointed out to sea and I knew, I KNEW that Emmanuel was across the great waters, just over the horizon. I wanted to see him so badly, to see him as he is now, to be awed by his heavenly body and know that his broken, earthly body was not who he is, not who he was meant to be. But the boat was anchored. The waves continued to lap and I wept for the separation, deep wrenching sobs shaking my body. "Not yet" Jesus said to me with such love, such compassion, I still get goosebumps remembering. "Not yet."

Today I woke up to a world of delicate lace - hoar frost covering every possible surface. You might remember this post from last year and why hoar frost is so significant to me on this, of all days.

Maybe it's just a coincidence.

Maybe it's ego-centric to imagine that God would cover our city in hoar frost, today, just for me.

But maybe that's just what it is. And maybe, after weeks of a returning darkness and pain, God wanted me to hear again, "Don't look at that. Look at me."

Maybe heaven isn't so far away.